


The Words of Lahabrea

by JanuaryBlue



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Angst, Ascians (Final Fantasy XIV), Ascians have Opinions about death, Elidibus is the narrator for most of this fic, Gen, Graphic descriptions of mortality, I'm Trying Out New Things!, Multi, New Writing Styles!, Other, POV First Person, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2020-08-10 12:27:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20135440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JanuaryBlue/pseuds/JanuaryBlue
Summary: You hear and you are curious. The Ascians are not some otherworldly aethereal creatures; they are humans, ancient humans. The god that they’re trying to resurrect with these Calamities is the god they summoned to save the world.Why didn’t the Ascians tell anyone about their history? About the world, the other worlds, and what had happened to them? Maybe, if they had just tried to cooperate with the Spoken races, they could have all found a solution together that didn’t hurt anyone…More and more curious you grow. You search and search, and eventually you find there’s someone who can answer your questions.His name is Elidibus, the Emissary; the Ascian clad in white.





	The Words of Lahabrea

**Author's Note:**

> An immortal heart can only break once.

_Far from civilization and further still from any place of gathering or hunting that might attract people, a figure stands in a clearing, surrounded by naught of interest. He is wearing white. An Ascian’s robes._

Ah… Who goes there?

The news has spread far and wide over the years, indeed. How short a span of time… to one such as I. And yet long enough that the like of yourself has become common. Another adventurer, seeking out Ascians after the news of the Warrior of Light’s fantastical journeys? Here to slay your history’s greatest villains? A scholar seeking ancient wisdom? You would not be the first.

“…”

No truly great wisdom can be imparted in a conversation of a scant few minutes. The answers you seek may not satisfy. And ‘tis dangerous to approach one such as I.

“…?”

I will not. There is nothing for you to fear here, child. I am Elidibus. And though the title has long since lost its meaning, I am an emissary. Recent events have made me think better of straying from that role. And events more recent still have persuaded me that hoarding my knowledge would be pointless.

Harmful, even, to those few things in this Sundered world that are still of worth.

So ask your questions, young one. I shall satisfy your curiosity to such extent as I am able.

“…?”

It would not have served any purpose. Knowledge is power, and to give away the knowledge of our purpose would have given our enemies far too much power over us.

That logic guided our decisions. Such purpose is lost now, however. All that is left to do is mitigate the damage, ensure that this newly freed truth does not distort through tellings and retellings into something unworthy of its creators.

“…?”

A fine suggestion. After hearing our story, your mind must have produced that potential solution to our old problem rather quickly. To our people, one is not truly grown until reaching their first millennium. And myself and the others were considered sages even among our own. When the Sundering first took place we turned our minds to produce solutions, as well.

To summarize – what it is that makes you think we did not try?

“...”

It is not a story well-known _now. _This all happened twelve thousand years ago. All knowledge of what took place back then is long lost to time; I would be surprised to hear that any but I had aught to say about what happened back then.

The answer is that we did try. Some of us more than others. But there were efforts from each of us, in our own ways. We were loath to give up on those we cared for, who lived in the world when it was Sundered.

“…?”

Such incredulity. Leave now if you doubt the veracity of my words. ‘Twould be a waste of my time and yours to continue while you have this presumption that I mean to deceive you.

“…”

Then there may be purpose in speaking to you yet.

Emet-Selch was the first of us to give up. Or mayhap he was the last; he may well have went to his death with utter and absolute refusal still in his heart. Entrusting his hopes unto another with his dying gasp; that would be quite like him.

First you must understand our circumstances. They did not _die._

We were paragons and leaders of our people, and our world was just recovering from the horrors it had endured. The Sundering was not like the Calamities you know. Not some great, catastrophic event; no unthinkably large outpouring of violence. The Light struck true, and all was Sundered; there was nothing more to it.

The people who had been living there, _our _people; they did not _die. _Nor did they simply disappear. They remained in this world... after a fashion.

We sought out the ones we knew among the survivors. Our friends and families, colleagues and students. When Emet-Selch realized that none of them could remember, he felt he had lost them entirely. He was struck terribly hard by just how the Sundering had touched them. Clear though it may have been to our eyes even then, we had never seen it before, had not understood what it meant.

Much later on, when we realized the strange, faded color of their souls was because they had been broken into pieces, well and truly divided among fourteen worlds… he became determined to restore it. Ever the more devoted to our god, that He might one day come forth and work such miracles as He had been created to work.

He saw the world, and he could not accept it. None of us did. Emet-Selch was to first to give up, but also the least willing to surrender his dream of our people’s return. Even I have been moved to reconsider the peoples of these worlds, now that you have shown such promise.

“…?”

Yes, of course. I myself had ever been an observer. I would seek out no evidence, grant no particular opportunities for your race to impress me; but neither would I labor to place obstacles in your way. My work has ever been to contain Hydaelyn’s power as She has constrained His. Were She to go unchecked, this world could well become as the void of the Thirteenth.

These might seem rather paltry efforts in the scope of your original question. And yet your proposal is one I have heard before.

There _was_ one of us who tried… more, than the others_. _There was one among us who did not immediately dismiss the people of the Sundered Source.

Emet-Selch could only look upon them and despair; that the people he _knew _and _loved _dearly remembered nothing, could only come up with fragmented half-truths about how the world had been – how they had been.

He concluded from this that there was naught to be gained in speaking to them, interacting with them. They would only be anything like who they had been before once we restored them – even if it took many of their lifetimes. Soon, he abandoned that notion as well, seeing how the behavior of man had led their history astray. So disillusioned he became that he began to have no hope at all that the world Rejoined would have aught of worth – no, only the original world would have any worth to him. The original people.

But that came later. In the beginning, Emet-Selch had merely said there was naught to be gained by interacting with the races of man, Sundered as they were. That they were nothing like who they had used to be.

Fools, Lahabrea called us.

“…?”

Does it surprise you that I can laugh? First, we Ascians are incapable of crying, and now we cannot engage in simple amusement as we reminisce? I do wonder what expressions will be denied to us next.

But, concerning Lahabrea.

He said we idealized our world; that Amaurot was filled with unpleasant people, that there was just as much pettiness and evil in our race. But our people wanted for nothing. We knew no pain or famine, no disasters or struggles to survive, and these people knew such suffering every day of their lives.

It was easy, he said, for our people to be good and gracious to one another, when they did not go hungry, fear for their futures and their safety. There were plenty of – and these are his words exactly – ‘There were plenty of obnoxious, stupid, and downright malignant fools in the Akadaemia, Elidibus, and do not bother denying it.’

“!”

How interesting. I knew not that you mortals could laugh.

“...”

_His tone doesn’t change, but the tilt of his mouth, his chin, seems to indicate amusement._

Hmh. And a silver tongue reveals itself.

Yes, he did speak to me that way. To be clad different from than others; it is the mark of my role, not of leadership. What an enduring sentiment that is; I cannot quite imagine how it has come to be. I have been far less involved than the others. We have no leader. Moreover, Lahabrea spoke to everyone like that.

Since there was just as much vice and virtue in the reduced humanity of the Sundered worlds, Lahabrea argued, they could be taught, they could learn, as surely as our people once could. We all saw through it at once; it was transparent at best. And still it was impressive, that cannot be denied.

Emet-Selch and I, we could not bear to look upon these… shades, these part-people, barely there at all but still containing the faintest traces of our friends and colleagues. Just enough to be a living reminder of what we did not have, like a piece of glass wedged deep, digging in at every opportunity.

A phrase or mannerism here, a smile or gesture there, but in everyday life they were naught like the people they were before. Hints of what we’d lost just barely surfacing in the souls of strangers whose powers and knowledge were far less than our own. They were fragile, these creatures, mistrustful of one another. They lacked understanding, the drive to seek understanding, their first instincts were self-preservation, even with the use of violence. Even at the expense of others.

And for all that, Lahabrea cared naught.

He searched for his colleagues, his fellow researchers, his _students, _and set to teaching them, restoring to them the knowledge they had lost. Patiently explaining every last detail, fully aware of the enormity of the task before him. Sharp and exacting was he as an instructor, but never one to turn away a question, ever working to further his students’ understanding of the world as well as his own.

Never one to balk at a challenge, was he. And we all believed in him despite ourselves, hoping against home. Soon after Lahabrea’s failed experiment Emet-Selch felt grief so deep and profound he near drowned in it, and so eventually he turned to illusions for solace.

“…?”

A jest? Solace and Solus…? I fear I do n-

Ah. Wordplay. Since my rather recent return I had been resting for something approaching a thousand years. We had agreed upon it, long ago, as a safeguard. It holds significance no longer, so do not bother asking about it.

I have not been among Spoken races for many, many mortal lifetimes. Whatever language you are hearing, I almost certainly do not speak it. Emet-Selch would have, so your curiosity is not unfounded. It might have well been some sort of jest on his part. He had been ever vigilant, perpetually seeking out even a sliver of what had been lost, even as it meant living mortal lives among them, building vast empires and searching through his subjects.

He lived as a mortal for enough time to have enough understanding to hear the words of another language and know their meaning, instead of the more instinctive translation of the Echo. It is not necessary for one such as I – you speak and I hear your intended meaning. One of the Gift’s many functions.

“...”

And you as well… So many of you gifted there are these days. You must understand, back then so long ago, before any of the Rejoinings, those we found who possessed a semblance of the Echo were few and fewer among the Source.

Emet-Selch was seemingly returned to life when he saw these people – you would not believe what a change it worked upon him. He was so convinced he could… salvage some of them. So determined was he that he spent years and _years _among the mortal races, living out so many lives as mortals do, searching all the while for any who bore even a passing resemblance to those we knew.

‘Twas through his efforts that we learned a method to create new Ascians – to restore the Sundered humans of today to the state of our original race. Provided we found a proper fragment of their souls. Those whom we knew, who had engaged in His summoning – they were the easiest to find. Lahabrea never looked favorably upon it. At that point he had…

‘Tis a difficult process, uplifting a soul. And even had we known of it just after the Sundering, it can only be done to one who is Gifted. The Echo, in your words, it is the hallmark of our race. Of the _original _race. Humanity’s true form. I know not the reason or means by which some of your Sundered souls have regained that former trait, but those few of you who do are far closer to us Ascians than to your fellow man.

How Emet-Selch chased after it. The idea that even one more might be saved, that he might find and restore even one of the people we once knew to their former status. He never let her go, not for a second. ‘Tis a great burden to live in the past, as much as it did to drive him.

Lahabrea was not so. Not back then. He did not mean to sift and pick through the rubble as though hoping to find a lost relic of great value. He would rebuild our civilization from the raw materials that remained. So strong was his faith in his students that he did not hesitate to make long-lasting plans, that he did not flinch away from the concept of telling and spreading our tale.

Willing enough was he to listen to my counsel that he did not do so right away. It would do no good to shout the word far and wide, let it spread into legend and myth as it mutated, became distorted with each retelling. ‘Twas enough of an augment to convince his scholarly mind, and for that I was glad. Mayhap it would have been better had I failed.

There is no point in ruminating over it now. When Lahabrea began Emet-Selch had withdrawn into himself, so it was only my counsel and his own intuition guiding us.

“…?”

Already the tale has been distorted. Or at least, not told in full. Unsurprising.

Only Lahabrea, myself, and Emet-Selch escaped the Sundering. Everyone else – _everything else _– was Sundered. Everyone we knew, the entire world – and, of course, our god.

“…?”

Mayhap I will one day share that particular detail with you. But not today. I have yet to answer your original question in full.

Lahabrea began his task of establishing a place of knowledge and learning for the Sundered world. It took place with minimal input from myself. He was always the stubborn type, mind you, but neither was I particularly invested in this pursuit. It mattered not to him.

He worked slowly, Lahabrea did. With measured caution he built the foundations of truth in the minds of his students. To question _everything, _and to respect and pursue the experimental process and its results above all else. He did not tell them the story right away, only presented himself as a teacher to those who were willing to learn.

Such a coincidence ‘those who were willing’ included all his former students. Mayhap he sought them out intentionally. Determined that if he could not find the spark of learning within his former students, he would put it there themselves. Perhaps a fragment of their true being remained, after everything, and they retained the spirit of curiosity they had in their former lives. I could not say for certain which was the case.

I did look after him and his exploits; Emet-Selch was hardly willing to do aught about it. All he seemed to want to do was sleep. More and more rest he required, and always he awakened tired, when there was so much to be done. Even until the end, he loved his rest.

He must have been having very pleasant dreams. Lahabrea never did, not after the Final Days. I suppose I might consider myself lucky to have slept dreamlessly since then.

“...”

And now you are surprised that we can _dream. _I should be most interested in discovering which of us sees the other as subhuman and unworthy of recognition.

“…”

_His face is unreadable. _

Mayhap you are. Only time will tell.

Lahabrea set to work, intending to do exactly as you proposed. He meant to found a place of learning, and fill it with such people who would further its purpose – understanding the state of the world and its people, and how it might be improved. It had worked once already to summon Him. Thus was he convinced such collaborative efforts would once again work for His benefit.

He would teach his students the arts of understanding the world, of questioning and testing their beliefs. Of having to _prove _everything, so that they would have a basis for understanding everything he told them that they could control, a system of confirmation that came from within themselves, instead of just believing whatever he told them because he said it.

“…?”

Hmh. I suppose his lectures have stuck with me through the years.

“…!”

_His lips press tight together. Elidibus is clearly trying not to smile._

Indeed.

I will admit that I did visit from time to time. Watching other parts of the world and other shards had done naught for me. 

“…?”

_His lips lift up at the corners._

So you might say.

Lahabrea was an esteemed scholar in his time. He was yet a finer teacher. He spent most all his time instructing them in person. Such that his own students had long since begun to wonder after it – they were concerned that he had not been sleeping enough. I had even caught a few of them in the middle of some whimsical plot to get him to sleep.

‘Twas not a particularly bad scheme, even. Only misguided.

They were fine students. That much I must accede. Young and childlike though they were, bereft of their hard-earned eons of memory, they cared deeply for their mentor and his lessons. All of them they took to heart.

And that – that time, just after the Sundering, in those paltry few years… His soul _shone, _you see. Brilliant beyond measure. Giving his knowledge unto them, shaping and guiding their young minds, answering their questions; Lahabrea loved it dearly. Loved them dearly.

When one of them came to him with worries or troubles – most had naught in the way of families, since they had been stripped of their memories – he heard them out. Offered advice and counsel as well as defense and protection. He expended himself to provide for them in every way. None went hungry or wanted for clothing or shelter.

Those who asked of him to provide for others – Lahabrea _nurtured _that compassion, encouraged them to reach out and grow to become one who could help their fellow man as he had helped them.

He meant not to rebuild the world by his own hands. It would be a fool’s task if ever there was one. No, he would raise up a generation of wise and noble scholars and mages who would go forth into the world and do good works on their own. Who would also have learned from him the art of teaching, and spread their skills and knowledge to those who needed their help.

Lahabrea was never one for inaction. No, he taught his students to make use of our magics. They required crystals and matrices and many crutches besides to employ the art of Creation, Sundered as they were. It mattered naught to him. Not as long as he could still teach them.

He taught them to act. ‘Twas his belief, he professed to me, that they would learn through experience what things he could not teach them. For all his learning and knowledge he did impart, their chance to grow would come when they _took _it. When they were challenged, when they faced obstacles for which he had not, could not have prepared them.

Thus spake Lahabrea:

“_You can only arrive at mastery by practicing the techniques you have learned, facing challenges and apprehending them, using to the fullest the tools you have been taught, until they shatter in your hands and you are left in the midst of wreckage absolute... I cannot create masters. I have never known how to create masters. _

_“Go, then, and fail... You have been shaped into something that may emerge from the wreckage, determined to remake your Art. I cannot create masters, but if you had not been taught, your chances would be less. The higher road begins after the Art seems to fail you; though the reality will be that it was you who failed your Art.”_

He never did have it in himself to watch them fail. Always guiding, providing advice and wisdom that oft went unheeded, never taking their ignorance to heart for the briefest of moments. When they failed he offered them shelter and knowledge. And how he shone with pride when they refused his active assistance. That the values he had extolled to them had taken root in truth, and they had become determined to change and grow into greater versions of themselves, who _could _overcome the obstacles they faced.

How he treasured them. Lahabrea loved his students as a father loves his children. They were his legacy to the world, his great labor of love in the name of the lost knowledge and people of our civilization.

He would have moved worlds for them. He _did _move worlds for them. I do not doubt, until his final days, that he remembered each and every one of their names.

How far he had fallen, since those days. However devoted he may have been, his soul had not burned with near the same passion since. There was always a little less fire. A little less joy. Lahabrea was ever one to throw himself into things, and he rejoiced and relished in the Rejoinings far more openly than any of us, but it was not the joy he once possessed.

How far we all have fallen.

“…?”

I do. He was a great man. Mayhap the greatest of us, in his time. Faint praise given recent times, but had you just known him then…

Without him, I know not how we would have survived.

Emet-Selch would have been lost to his grief, most like. Descended to the Darkness to mourn forever with the ghost of our god lingering about him.

I would have… Observed. Watching perpetually, judging and considering. Making entreaties but sharing naught. Taking action, but never in any direction, not to any real end.

It was Lahabrea who moved us. He who posited that the worlds could be put back together again – even when the Thirteenth fell, when so many of us despaired our cause was lost completely, he did not give up.

When we achieved the First Rejoining, it was the first glint of hope in centuries. Emet-Selch had spent his time listless and despairing, searching idly for what he would never find. At the prospect of His restoration he threw himself into his work with a renewed fervor. Even as he seemed to break apart under the weight he placed upon himself.

Some people thrive under pressure, rise to the occasion, shine the brightest on the darkest night. Lahabrea was such a man. Emet-Selch… was not. Nor was I, truth be told, though I did not fall nearly as he had. Rare are such people, indeed. I have only ever known two of them.

“…”

It did not _work, _young one, because of **_Her._**

Because of the Mothercrystal and Her deeds. Because of how She had imparted knowledge onto the Sundered peoples, an understanding of the way things would be. Of the way She had _made _things.

The natural order, it was.

He held his students, dying in his arms. They were children. _Children. _And their _bodies _were _rotting _as they lived in them. Their bones were breaking and wearing away under use, flesh sunken and sickly, skin wrinkled and lax. They started to experience pain every waking moment of their lives. These _children, _these infants of beings who knew naught of the world, suffering so.

They had received only a barest sliver of the great legacy that was to be handed down to them, and it was ‘normal’, it was _‘natural’, _it was just ‘the way of things’.

And the worst part? The fools had pretended it was normal. It was right. They told him they had seen it happen to others, it was like that for everyone – so why shouldn’t it be like that for them?

For all they had learned they were still fools. Fools, all of them.

“…”

_Elidibus’s expression is unreadable. His voice is not._

They’d turned from the truth, accepted this wretched process of dying slowly and painfully, because they could see no way out. They had let stagnancy and the idea of _normalcy _control them. Her words and the impression of the way the world should be echoed in their minds, and in the deaths of those who had been older than them.

Because others had suffered this fate, and if it was good enough a fate for their forebears, they had not the right to deny it. Because it was the natural order of their world. Because to die was in the nature of all living things.

Death, they claimed, was a part of life.

_His voice is not unreadable at all. It is plain what Elidibus is thinking as he says these words._

It was because their time was to end that the moments they did have still possessed meaning. When Lahabrea asked them what that meant for _him _– unbroken and undying – they said that he was not like them, and they did not know if he would live forever, but they wished him the best of it.

_Elidibus’s voice is the furthest thing from unreadable, indifferent._

To live forever must be some terrible burden. ‘Twas not they who should be pitied, but him. So they told him, one after another, as they died in his arms over the years. Blow upon blow to that unsundered soul. I do think it broke him. After a fashion.

Liars and fools. They did not want to die. They did not actually believe those petty things they espoused.

“…?”

How do I know?

Tell me, young one. Do you want to live?

“…?”

Do not – your answer should not sound like a _question. _Unless your will to live is so weak…?

“…!”

Tomorrow, will you still want to live?

“…”

And the next day?

“…”

And the next?

“…”

But it does. ‘Proof by induction’, it was called.

Today you want to live one more day. Tomorrow, you will still want to live another day. The day you wish to die will never come. Therefore, you wish to live forever. If the first two premises are true, then the conclusion must be true as well. It is called ‘soundness of logic’. Lahabrea taught it to them, his students, before they died.

It was just as true for them. It’s true for all of you mortals, save a few particularly unfortunate few.

You understand the implication. Those young souls who died in his arms, calling their deaths natural and just, they lied all the while. They wanted to live. _They wanted to live._

They wanted to live, and your mother stole that from them. From them and all their descendants. For twelve thousand years humankind has suffered under this yoke of mortality.

Tell me, young one, you who’ve come asking for my answers.

If someone told you it was _the natural order, _it was right and proper for these infants to suffer and die in your arms with no way for you to stop it, no way to ease their suffering-

If you took a child under your wing to watch and care for, and felt them grasping at your hand for guidance, eager and smiling and happy to hear aught you had to say-

And if you had to _watch them die_ and listen to them tell you _it was all right, this was how **it should be**_, those **_children_**-

What would you say, then, about this ‘natural order’? What would you tell those who told you that you were wrong, that those tiny souls you had embraced and nurtured should die? To accept this world would be an affront to all life.

“…”

Do you disagree?

“…”

You need not bother arguing. We both know already the truth. You said it yourself; you’ve no wish to die. And neither do your fellow man, yet alas, there is naught that can be done for them.

They were born to die; the victims of the Mothercrystal long before their conception. Sundered fragments, all of them. So ignorant, even now that the truth has come to be known. So unwilling to learn. Pieces of a greater whole that will never survive to amount to aught as individuals.

How young you are. An adult by your people’s measure only barely. In our day you would have been a child. Now, and for many more mortal lifetimes, until you reached maturity.

“…?”

We did not. We died when we were Sundered.

“…”

Of that I am aware.

Thank you for your forthrightness, young one. I am glad of it. Gladder still to have made conversation with one willing to hear the truths I have to share.

“…”

You are most welcome. I should admit I did not find it entirely unpleasant. The opportunity to converse once more would be welcomed.

So full of questions, you are. Seeking me out through such hints and suggestions as I had left for ones such as yourself. Searching for knowledge that no others would wish to possess, lest their notions of righteousness and villainy be dashed. They would turn from aught that might challenge their view of the world.

They are no fools, the saviors of this realm. This I have learned at great cost. To acknowledge the humanity of their foes would be a stain on their perfect morality. Willing is their ignorance; their means of protecting their _innocence_. They would rather us all die than have our tale be known. They would let it fade and die in the annals of history, the sacrifice that was made for them.

Even now He watches. Sleeps. He saved their lives as surely as He saved our world, and yet they deny Him even the acknowledgement of His existence. Convinced that theirs is the only history worth preserving. The only tale worth telling.

Why is it you ask, young one? Why would you hear tell of the villains who have slain the world seven times over?

“…”

The desire for knowledge can be dangerous. Curiosity is far and away the most dangerous, and powerful, of human emotions. Treasure it, young one.

Keep your promise.

We will meet again. When the time comes the truth will be made plain.

Fear not. I will find you if I must. Until then I suggest you heed the words of Lahabrea and go forth to improve yourself. As well as you are able.

But now is not the time for hasty action or rash decisions. Caution truly does serve us well, in these times.

Stay safe, young one.

_The Emissary disappears in a swirl of purple and black._

**Author's Note:**

> The quote Elidibus attributes to Lahabrea is not my own; it comes from a mind significantly more eloquent than my own belonging to a certain famous transhumanist. The most likely place you’d recognize it from is fanfiction that was a serious influence on this work and on probably several of my works. 
> 
> And I am struggling with Elidibus’s voice, oh my god. I’m naturally inclined to longer, complex sentences but most of the lines I have of him speaking are pretty short and generally vague or eclectic. Elidibus likes to say things in multiple short sentences instead of long compound ones. He doesn’t like to explain things in detail, instead does a more elegant-but-concise summation that at least _sounds_ like it captures his intent well but isn’t easy to unpack. I am the least concise person in the universe; I can get a point across well if I really want to, but I’ll use twice the words I need to do it.
> 
> Fun fact: Of the fics on Ao3 which feature Elidibus as the main character being shipped with a second-person protagonist, 20% of them are narrated by a first person Elidibus speaking to a second-person love interest.  
Other Fun fact: All the "..." "...?" and "...!" actually have associated dialogue with them, but I removed it. Originally it was just the - symbol on the line, but I figured the quotes would indicate speaking better.  
Even more fun fact: I didn't beta this just proofread it over very early in the morning lol


End file.
